Thirteen
review by Cynthia
Fuchs, 29 August 2003
Feeling
anything
Thirteen
begins in mid-crisis. Two girls sit on a bed and suck up a can of
Dust-Off. Shot in a series of close-ups, they lapse into a sort of
delirium. "I can't feel anything," giggles the blond one,
Tracy (Evan Rachel Wood). The dark one, temptress Evie (Nikki Reed),
claims to hear a sound in her head: "That's your brain cells
popping!" squeals Tracy, just before they start hitting each
other, just to feel something. They're both surprised when they
knock each other off the bed, raising welts and drawing blood. They
laugh again.
Cutting
back from this girl-bonding commotion to four months earlier, Thirteen
traces how Tracy and Evie came to this unpretty place. While the
course is simplified for popular consumption, the story is
compelling, even urgent, particularly if you know any
thirteen-year-olds who are feeling alienated, angry, or
self-destructive. Pale and willowy, Tracy starts out as an apparent
"good girl." Living with her single mom Melanie (Holly
Hunter) and slightly older brother Mason (Brady Corbet) in a
low-rent section of Los Angeles, she does her homework, doesn't make
waves, and looks after her mom, a recovering addict and at-home
hairdresser who tends to lose track of her hair gel during
appointments.
Beneath
her seeming self-possession, however, Tracy's in trouble. She
resents dad's absence and mom's chaos, not to mention Mel's
on-again-off-again boyfriend, Brady (Jeremy Sisto), also a
recovering addict; their relationship is plainly compassionate and
even fun, but they just as plainly have a history they're trying not
to revisit. Tracy's angry at both -- her mother for seeming weak and
Brady for giving her scary memories (him doing drugs in the
kitchen), to which she flashes back on cue. In search of some sense
of order, Tracy has been cutting herself, keeping a scissors and a
bloody rag hidden in the bathroom for late-night self-damage
sessions. Heading back to school, new to seventh grade, Tracy's
hardly noticed. But, like everyone else, she takes definite notice
of classmate Evie -- in perfect makeup, tight tops, lowcut jeans,
and bellybutton ring -- and resolves that day to get with the cool
girls.
Initially
scornful of this corny girl in cutesy blue socks ("Who let her
out of the cabbage patch?"), Evie relents when Tracy steals a
wallet full of cash and offers it up as a kind of dowry. From here,
Tracy reels into a torrent of first times -- getting her tongue and
navel pierced, shoplifting on Melrose, drinking, tripping on acid.
And, of course, experimenting with sex -- with boys and with each
other, high and straight. As they've picked up from every cultural
sign around them, sex is a route to adulthood, but it's also an
ordeal, a test of their very young mettle.
The
girls' almost instantly codependent friendship leads to inevitable
tension and competition between them, especially when Evie seeks
Mel's attention, telling stories about abuses at home -- these
shift, depending on what Evie thinks to say each time: her aunt's
boyfriend hit her, her father bruised her. While it's never quite
clear how Evie has been abused or by whom, her situation is plainly
raucous; she lives with Brooke (Deborah Kara Unger), who, much like
the girls, pursues mass-marketed happiness, imagining that wearing
girly outfits, sleeping with younger men, or getting plastic surgery
will make her happy. The film suggests that she's not, but only from
a distance, as the girls perceive her, running down the hallway on
the way to work, or through a window as she huddles on her couch,
stitched and black-and-blue from her ear job.
Co-written
by Reed and director Catherine Hardwicke, and inspired by Reed's
experiences (as she's been telling the many interviewers who
regularly look pleased to see that she's not only survived, but also
graduated to a poised movie stardom at age 15), Thirteen is
both harrowing and moralistic. In this doubled effect, it recalls
Larry Clark's Kids (1995), exposing bad behavior in handheld
Super 16 imagery (here the camera is by the endlessly resourceful
Elliot Davis [Get on the Bus, 1996]), that hovers between
reportage and sensationalism. Unlike Kids -- and this is a
crucial difference -- Thirteen offers more than glimpses of
adults. Though Mel tends to appear from the girls' point of view,
framed by windows and doorways, not quite understanding what they're
going through, she manifestly cares about them, means to do well,
and won't give up on them ("Baby," she pleads, "We
have to have a real talk"). Even Brady is a warm, generous guy,
only walking off ("This place is f*cking with my head")
when Tracy knows -- as she does with everyone -- just what buttons
to push.
Still,
Thirteen comes with a Kids-like rating, that doesn't
allow thirteen-year-olds to see it; Hardwicke advocates that kids
see it with adults with whom they can discuss it together. Such
discussion might be especially helpful when it comes to the movie's
presentation of Tracy and Evie's sexual experimentations, which
raise the specter of race-mixing anxieties, as they pursue black and
Hispanic boys, who impress girls by rapping and beatboxing. Evie
slips out the window to "party" with some kid in the park,
leaving Tracy to wonder what she's missing. When Tracy does attract
the attention of the beautiful and much desired Javi (Charles
Duckworth), the girls work their simultaneous makeout and blowjob
sessions in mirror fashion, Tracy copying Evie's actions, step by
step, from tongue-kissing and straddling to stripping off her top
and unzipping Javi's jeans.
That
Evie later pursues Javi herself, for an evening's distraction, only
underlines her own insecurity that looks like malice to Tracy. That
the girls specifically and aggressively seek out sex and drug
activities with young black men and Latinos speaks to the boys'
emblematic coolness, but their desire comes with baggage --
cultural, historical, political -- that Tracy and Evie can't begin
to fathom. The movie might be clearer about how this works, or
provide a broader context that doesn't depend on Evie serving as a
plot device and emblem of dire descent, instigation and model for
Tracy's bad behaviors.
While
Thirteen shifts awkwardly from overstatement to ambiguity
with regard to Evie and Tracy, it renders Tracy and Mel's
relationship with affecting detail. In part, this has to do with
Wood and Hunter, who are frequently stunning (Mel's assault on her
own kitchen floor tiles is one remarkable moment), but it's also a
function of the attention paid to both characters' ongoing efforts
to deal with more or less familiar traumas. So daily are these
struggles that even the house illustrates their simultaneous lack of
boundaries and inability to communicate: Tracy's room has windows
looking out on the living room, where she watches Mel make out with
Brady. Tracy's discomfort is also visible, and she has no recourse.
It's as if Mel is doing this to her, on purpose. When you're
thirteen, increased depth of vision means more layers of you.
Confused,
loving, and mutually frustrating, mother and daughter lurch from
moment to moment, desperate to connect even when full-on
confrontation seems the only route. It's the sort of crisis that
can't be resolved or even fully rendered in one movie, but Thirteen
does well to dig into its nuances.
Click here to read the interview. |
Directed
by:
Catherine Hardwicke
Starring:
Evan Rachel Wood
Nikki Reed
Holly Hunter
Jeremy Sisto
Deborah Kara Unger
Kip Pardue
Brady Corbet
Written
by:
Catherine Hardwicke
Nikki Reed
Rated:
R - Restricted
Under 17 requires
parent or adult
guardian.
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